Not Alone
by Tahllydarling
Summary: He's never told any of them the truth, not even Natasha ... After his encounter with Loki, Clint Barton comes to believe he has nothing to live for. A BlackHawk one shot. No romance, just a connection that can pull him back from the brink.


**Not Alone**

"_Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass_." - Anton Chekhov

Perched on the edge of the rooftop, Clint Barton watched the movement on the city streets far below him. Air currents moved against his skin as he leaned forward, staring down past his bare feet to the asphalt beneath him. So far, but would it be far enough? Throwing back his head, he took another swallow of the bottle of bourbon that he had brought out with him, the liquor burned his throat and warmed his insides. It did nothing to alleviate the chill that had settled around his heart.

Lately he watched the world with half-hearted interest, standing among the people with whom he shared his life and yet also standing apart from them. He had no place here, not any more. He hadn't really felt like he belonged here since the events that had changed their lives six months ago. While the others moved forward, taking on new projects and throwing themselves into the restoration of New York City, which he gave every outward indication he was also doing, the insanity and desperation of those days still resonated painfully within him.

Sleep eluded him even now, the dark hours had long since become a battlefield for him. He cannot close his eyes without seeing the faces of those he harmed, so many lights snuffed out, so many innocents burned away in pursuit of a mission that wasn't even his own. Sometimes in the dark hours of the night, when silence and shadow crept through the building, he can still feel the old dread in his bones. Sometimes he just can't shake the feeling that his fate is waiting for him, that his next breath could be his last. He feels it in the darkest reaches of his mind and the very foundations of his soul. He knows the face of his executioner, knows that one day he will return and finish what he started.

As he considered the magnitude of the lies that make up his current existence, Barton wrapped his arms around himself and rocked back and forth on the ledge. He lets them believe that he's okay. He tells them all that those days under Loki's control are a blur. He's never told any of them the truth, not even Natasha. The memories weren't there to begin with but now, now they are clear as crystal, refracting in the confines of his mind until they are all he sees, all he knows. Caulson's death haunts his every breath. They won the battle for New York, but in the fight for his mind and his sanity, he thinks Loki won the war.

He laughed, a sharp and desperate sound, as the tears he had held back finally escaped to roll down his cheeks. As those tiny droplets of self hate dripped into the air below, he wished that he had the strength to follow them. Not strong enough to end his own life, not strong enough to live it, caught in a hell that he can see no way out of, twisting and turning in memories that burn and leave him bleeding, he waited for someone to give him the push that he needed. Was it selfish if the only way he could see to save the people he loved was to remove himself permanently from their lives? Were Loki to return, Clint knew that he would be made to kill everyone who slept in the building below him. He knew that he would be made to carry the memories of those actions because he carried the memories of those that had come before. He couldn't go through it again.

The sound of the sliding door and stealthy footsteps behind him announced the arrival of another. He didn't need to turn to know about who was intruding on his solitude, she was the only person who could creep up on him as well as the only person he would ever allow to see the weakness within him. Natasha always knew exactly where to find him, he had no idea how she managed it, but she always knew. She stopped and leaned against the railing a few feet away, deliberately giving him space but letting her presence calm the racing of his thoughts. Seconds stretched into minutes, both of them maintaining the silence. Finally she shifted her position and turned her face up towards the night sky.

"None of this was your fault," she exclaimed quietly. It was obvious that she meant to offer him comfort but the words seared through him, threatening to shatter what he had been trying so hard all night to hold on to.

"Don't!" he interrupted sharply, slamming down the whiskey bottle and feeling the glass fracture under the weight of the impact. Too close to a metaphor, too close to the truth...too close. "Please don't," calmer this time, softer as he pleaded with her to understand why he can't hear the words she wanted to give him without breaking. "I can't sleep Tasha, it's there every time I close my eyes."

Her eyes were understanding when she turned to look down at him and he knew that she saw way more than he had wanted her to. She moved closer, laid a hand on his shoulder, softly, gently. Who could understand his suffering better than the flame haired assassin at his side? As long as he had known her she had been living with the memories of actions that she could not undo. He asked her once if she knew what it was to be unmade, to have someone play with her brain and manipulate her actions to their own will, and she had known. She had always known that he was not alone in this, but he hadn't realised it until that moment.

"I won't try and talk you out of it not if you don't think you can face what lies ahead of us, even though I know you're stronger than you think you are" she exclaimed before turning back towards the tower. At the edge of the terrace she stopped and looked back, ensuring that her voice would reach him when she spoke. "He can't hurt you now Clint, not unless you let him. I will say one thing though, if you jump, he wins," she told him."He claimed enough victims six months ago, don't let him claim you too."

Her words struck at him, causing something deep inside to reverberate like a tuning fork. She was right, were he to leap from the building Loki would have won and he would have allowed that victory, participated in the destruction of yet another life at the Asgardian's behest. He would not let him win, he still had that much power left to him. Pushing himself to his feet, he moved unsteadily back toward the tower, intending to make himself some strong coffee and throw himself under a hot shower. He couldn't let the past break him, all he could do was keep moving, look to the future, see it through.

She was waiting for him in the kitchen, two mugs of coffee on the counter in front of her. Spoon still in hand, she met his gaze and nodded once, a silent pledge of support. "I figured you'd be ready for some coffee about now," she explained as she handed him one of the mugs. She came close enough that he could smell her shampoo and wrapped her arms around his waist, letting her head rest against his shoulder for the briefest of moments. He breathed her in, feeling the bond that had always existed between them solidify within him and strengthen him. He released her when she stepped away, savouring the warmth that her brief embrace had given him. As she retrieved her own mug and exited the kitchen she turned once again and met his gaze. "You're not alone in this," she murmured, "not any more."


End file.
